


Little Did I Know

by Miss Horvath (Lady_of_the_Refrigerator)



Category: She Loves Me - Bock/Harnick/Masteroff
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Surprise Kissing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-08 12:12:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12864276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_of_the_Refrigerator/pseuds/Miss%20Horvath
Summary: “Come on, Mr. Nowack. It’s half a sandwich, not a proposal of marriage.” Amalia pushed the sandwich further across the table toward him. Georg eyed it like it might be poisoned.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [huffellepuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/huffellepuff/gifts).



By the end of November, life at Maraczek’s Parfumerie had descended into chaos, growing more messy and complicated the closer the calendar crept towards Christmas. Which would be expected, of course, if only holiday shoppers could be blamed for the rising tension among the staff—but that wasn’t it at all.  
  
Amalia couldn’t even begin to pretend there was any logical reason for it. Mr. Maraczek and Mr. Nowack were darn near close to openly feuding nowadays and she didn’t have the faintest idea why. While she and Georg hardly got along, Mr. Maraczek’s increasing hostility towards him seemed almost entirely without merit. It had become so relentless and unwarranted recently that Amalia couldn’t even bring herself to enjoy seeing Mr. Nowack taken down a peg.  
  
Amalia wasn’t quite sure why Mr. Nowack’s misfortune made her feel so uneasy. Perhaps it was because so often Maraczek’s criticisms made a man as animated as Georg take physical pause, each comment stealing just a little more of his composure, to the point where the only time he seemed like himself anymore was when Amalia picked a fight with him. Sometimes she’d pick a fight for just that reason, because the alternative—standing back and watching the man slowly break—made her uncomfortable in ways she couldn’t explain. He never seemed broken when he was arguing with her and those few moments of absurd normalcy were often the only things that made the workday tolerable.  
  
Today was no different. Mr. Maraczek snapped at Georg that morning before he even made it into the shop. His criticism had been biting and admittedly quite undeserved, and Georg had looked more than a little lost out there on the sidewalk after Maraczek stormed away. He didn’t even try to scold Amalia for being late despite the fact that she skidded to a stop on the frosty sidewalk just in time to hear Maraczek’s tirade, rather than when she was supposed to arrive ten minutes earlier.  
  
Amalia had never been so happy to have an excuse to disappear into the workroom for the day. She didn’t see either Mr. Maraczek or Georg again until lunchtime, when Georg swept into the room like someone was chasing him.  
  
He made a beeline for the row of small lockers against the back wall and rifled around in his locker for a few moments before swearing quietly under his breath. It was only when he leaned down and rested his head against the edge of the locker that Amalia decided she should probably let him know he wasn’t alone in the room. The longer she waited, the more humiliated he’d be when he discovered her there and the more awful his reaction would be.  
  
“Is something the matter, Mr. Nowack?”  
  
Georg flinched, startled by the sound of her voice, and glanced over his shoulder with a mortified expression on his face that he quickly schooled into the customary look of wary annoyance he reserved solely for her. “I didn’t see you there, Miss Balash.”  
  
She nodded towards his locker. “Has something gone missing?”  
  
“Oh, uh—“ he pulled a book off the small shelf in the locker and shut the door—“No. I, um… I meant to bring a sandwich for lunch, but I guess I must have forgotten. I suppose with Mr. Maraczek the way he’s been lately, I was dreading coming in today and I let that distract me.”  
  
Amalia blinked in surprise. Georg’s explanation was unusually forthcoming of him, especially considering he was talking to her; his state of mind must be worse than she thought if he chose to confide in her of all people.  
  
“I’m sure once Arpad turns up, you could send him out for something.”  
  
Georg shook his head with a sigh. “I really can’t be bothered trying to negotiate with Arpad right now—half the time he gets the order wrong and somehow he always ends up short-changing me. But it’s all right. Missing a meal here and there won’t kill me.”  
  
He sat down at the far end of the work table, resigned to spend his break reading. He looked stiff and uncomfortable sitting there; Amalia wasn’t sure whether his discomfort stemmed from his empty stomach or thoughts of Mr. Maraczek or the fact that he had shared something that could be considered a weakness with her. (She found herself hoping it wasn’t the latter.)  
  
Whatever the cause of Georg’s ill mood, Amalia couldn’t let their conversation end the way it had. She couldn’t just sit there eating in front of him while he looked so miserable, not when she had more than enough to share.  
  
“Here,” she said, sliding the wax paper that served as her makeshift dish nearer to him on the table, “why don’t you have half of my sandwich?”  
  
Georg stared dubiously at the food, as if he was waiting for the catch. (Or waiting for it to jump up and bite him; she wasn’t sure.)  
  
“Come on, Mr. Nowack. It’s half a sandwich, not a proposal of marriage.” She pushed the sandwich further across the table toward him. He still eyed it like it might be poisoned, but after a long, tense moment, he reached out and picked it up. His hand shook a bit when he raised the sandwich in an awkward little salute before finally taking a bite.  
  
Relief washed over Amalia as she watched Georg turn his attention back to his book—or try to, at least. He seemed to be blinking far too rapidly to read properly, his eyes were bright and shiny, and he looked suspiciously like he was about to…  
  
She shook herself and tried to focus on her own book instead of the fact that Georg Nowack of all people was doing his damnedest not to break down in front of her. Moments like this reminded her why, despite their volatile relationship, she couldn’t bring herself to truly hate him. No, he was entirely too human for her to hate.  
  
Amalia quickly finished eating the rest of her lunch and gathered her things in hopes of giving Georg a little solitude before Maraczek saw fit to lash out at him again.  
  
“Thank you, Miss Balash,” he said, quiet and earnest, as she walked past him towards her locker; his voice was rough and for once free of any affectations when he pronounced her name.  
  
Amalia felt a sudden urge to lay a reassuring hand on his shoulder. She knew she shouldn’t, that it wasn’t her place, that he’d probably snap at her for taking the liberty and then maybe he wouldn’t be the only one who left the room in tears…  
  
Why should she risk ruining what was probably their longest civil interaction to date by not minding her own business? For the same reason she couldn’t help but rise to the bait whenever he taunted her: she found him very difficult to ignore.  
  
As bad an idea as it was to get involved any further, she simply couldn’t stop herself.  
  
“I hope you feel better, Mr. Nowack,” she said; his shoulder tensed up under her hand and his back straightened. “I don’t know why Mr. Maraczek has had it out for you lately, but I’m sure you don’t deserve it.”  
  
He glanced up at her with a deep furrow between his brows, perhaps unsure whether she was mocking him or not. But she wasn’t, of course, and her sincerity must have shown in her expression. He quickly looked away again and put his face in his hands.  
  
“Hey—” she pulled over one of the empty stools and sat again, wrapping a hesitant arm across his back— “are you OK?”  
  
“No, Miss Balash. I am not OK. I’m a nervous wreck all the time. Surely you’ve noticed.”  
  
“I… Is there anything I can do or…?”  
  
“I don’t think there’s anything anyone can do,” he said, in a rush—and he sounded like he was either going to start to sob or hyperventilate. Or maybe both. When he peeked out at her from behind his hands, he looked every bit a scared little boy—absolutely nothing like the stubborn, argumentative man she usually knew.  
  
Perhaps he’d hit some sort of threshold in what he could endure that day. Perhaps it was her kindness, her concern in that moment that drove him to the brink. Perhaps finding a sympathetic ear in his work rival of all people was one step too far. Whatever it was, he couldn’t seem to fight off the tears that had been threatening to fall any longer.  
  
Amalia’s chest tightened. Under normal circumstances, it was simply impossible for her to see someone in pain and not feel… moved. To see _Georg_ like this? It pulled at her heartstrings inexplicably. She hugged him closer, tightening her arm around his shaking shoulders.  
  
To Amalia’s surprise, he didn’t try to flee in shame once he started to cry. He didn’t lash out, like he had so many times before. He just… accepted comfort from her, something she would’ve thought impossible not twenty minutes ago. In fact, he even leaned into her awkward half-embrace and allowed her to try to soothe him like they didn’t spend most of their days bickering with each other.  
  
He tried to stifle the noises he was making, tried to make himself stop crying before everyone else in the shop heard him, which only made it worse before it could ever make it better. But he stayed with her. He stayed until found his breath again, until the tension in his body began to dissipate.  
  
“I apologize, Miss Balash. I’m afraid I blubbered all over your blouse.”  
  
“I don’t mind, Mr. Nowack. It can’t be easy for you to be vulnerable around someone you hate as much as me.”  
  
He looked taken aback. “You may frustrate me, Miss Balash, but you don’t—I don’t hate you.”  
  
“You don’t hate Mr. Maraczek, either.”  
  
“No, of course not. I guess that’s the problem, isn’t it?” he said; he swallowed reflexively before he spoke again, his face still conspiratorially close to hers, “I realize I’m barking up the wrong tree here, but… do you think I’m incompetent?”  
  
“Mr. Nowack—“  
  
“Am I bad at my job, Miss Balash? Have I been skating by on my friendship with Maraczek for so long that I somehow didn’t realize my work was subpar?”  
  
Amalia hesitated a moment. “We may clash a lot, Mr. Nowack—” here he gave an hysterical little chuckle— “an awful lot, but even I can admit you’re more than competent at your job.”  
  
He still looked doubtful. “You’re not lying to make me feel better, are you?”  
  
“When have I ever done that?” A beat. “You really don’t know what’s bothering him?”  
  
Georg slumped back in his seat and ran a hand through his hair.  
  
“At this point, your guess is as good as mine. This whole thing is a nightmare.” He bit his lip and searched her face for a long moment, like he was weighing how much he should share with her. “I’ve been on my own for a long time. The Maraczeks are the closest thing I have to a family. Or they were, at least. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this, I honestly don’t know what to do with myself anymore. I can’t do anything right as far as he’s concerned. Even Mrs. Maraczek stopped inviting me over for dinner.”  
  
“Here,” she said, and fished around in the deep pocket of her dress. She pulled out the small packet of homemade cookies she’d been saving to have as a treat with coffee on the way to the bus later. “You need these more than I do.”  
  
He let out a strange huff of a laugh. “Ah. The cure for all of life’s ills.”  
  
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”  
  
“Don’t worry about it, Miss Balash.” He laid a hand on her forearm, a fleeting, gentle touch. “And thank you. Again.”  
  
“I should go,” she said, surprising herself with how flustered she felt. “I’ve taken far too long a lunch break now.”  
  
“You’re not scheduled for the front today,” he said.  
  
“Oh, I know. I thought maybe it would be easier for you to avoid his wrath if you spent the rest of the day back here.”  
  
“I appreciate the sentiment, but I can’t hide from Maraczek indefinitely. Besides, he’d only end up accusing me of shirking my duties.”  
  
“You probably have a point there.”  
  
“Are you… agreeing with me about something, Miss Balash?” he said, a little mischief bleeding through the sadness in his lopsided half-smile. “Well—" he rubbed his hands nervously on his own thighs— “I guess it’s time for me to bite the bullet.”  
  
He pushed himself up from his seat and headed for the door into the shop.  
  
“Mr. Nowack, wait!” Amalia said, following close behind him. Georg was always so well put together—almost infuriatingly so when all she wanted was to find something to criticize him for; she couldn’t imagine him going out in public as disheveled as he looked now. Without giving it much thought, she reached up to straighten his collar, to comb her fingers through his hair, putting it to rights as best she could. She did it like it was second nature. Like it was something she did everyday.  
  
But, of course, it _wasn’t_. This was Mr. Nowack, her foil, her foe, not her… not her _lover_.  
  
Amalia’s heart pounded in her chest, in her ears. Why did she touch him like that? Why had she still not backed away? Why hadn’t he?  
  
It felt as if they were both holding their breath. He watched her with a faint, confused furrow in his brow, shaking his head slightly and opening his mouth to speak; before she could think better of it, she leant forward, covering his lips with hers.  
  
Panic seized her immediately—what in heaven’s name possessed her to _kiss_ Mr. _Nowack?_ —but somehow through the haze of anxiety and nerves she became aware that Georg was, quite tentatively, kissing her back.  
  
It was a soft kiss. Innocent. Chaste, but not chaste. It was… It was wonderful.  
  
When Amalia pulled away, Georg raised his hand slowly, as if in a daze, and gingerly touched his lips.  
  
“Where on God’s green earth is Mr. Nowack?” came Mr. Maraczek’s voice, bellowing from the shop floor to shatter the moment.  
  
Amalia and Georg met each other’s eyes and winced.  
  
“That’s my cue,” Georg said softly, and heaved a heavy sigh. With what seemed to Amalia to be great reluctance, he turned on his heel and headed back into the shop.


	2. Chapter 2

Amalia checked her watch one last time as she hurried down the icy road towards Maraczek’s. If she had calculated correctly, she would arrive at the shop just barely before it was set to open and she’d be able to sneak in under the cover of the morning rush without drawing much attention to herself.  
  
She only had moments to spare if her plan was going to work. Sure, it was a silly plan, designed more to delay the inevitable than to avoid a confrontation completely, but she figured it was worth a shot all the same.  
  
Soon enough, Amalia found herself on the sidewalk outside the shop. She took a deep breath and held it for a long moment, hoping to settle herself before she had to screw up the courage to peek in the window.  
  
To her relief, Maraczek was nowhere in sight. She gently pushed open the door, careful to avoid setting off the chime.  
  
“Mr. Sipos?” she stage-whispered. Sipos started and looked around, furrowing his brows when he noticed Amalia awkwardly poking her head around the door.  
  
“Miss Balash? Why are you whispering? Is something the matter?”  
  
“Is Mr. Maraczek in yet?”  
  
“No. He called a few minutes ago to say he wouldn’t be in until after lunch today.”  
  
“Oh, thank goodness,” she said, letting out the breath she’d been holding. She slipped in the door as fast as she could, closing it silently behind her.  
  
“I’m afraid Mr. Nowack is already in the workroom, however.”  
  
“I’m not worried about Mr. Nowack today.”  
  
“Really? Did you finally have a run in with Mr. Maraczek?” Sipos asked, sounding somewhat closer to amused than concerned. Amalia didn’t fault him for that—unlike the others, she _had_ somehow managed to avoid earning the full focus of Maraczek’s unpredictable ire up until that point. She very much preferred to keep it that way if she could help it.  
  
“Sort of. I may have forgotten to tighten and seal all the lids on the jars of face cream I was filling on Saturday night and I’m afraid of what he’ll do if he knows I was the one who did it.”  
  
“I wouldn’t worry too much. I’m sure he won’t even notice, given how distracted he’s been. Unless he can find a way to blame Georg, of course.”  
  
Amalia’s conscience twinged. It was still very new to her to consider how her own actions might cause conflict for Mr. Nowack and it didn’t make her feel too pleased with herself when she thought about how much more difficult she may have made his life in the past, unintentional as it was. Maraczek going after Georg for something that she did was the last thing he needed right now, and the last thing she wanted.  
  
Well, that settled it. She would just have to find a way to ask him about Saturday and find a way to make it up to him if something had happened. She wondered idly if he accepted apologies in the form of cookies. Which reminded her…  
  
“Mr. Sipos, before I forget… Please tell your wife the cookies she sent with you the other day were delicious. I’d love to have the recipe if she’s willing to part with it.”  
  
Sipos looked back up from his counter, meeting Amalia’s eyes with a blank expression on his face. “My wife? Cookies?”  
  
“You didn’t bring in the cookies that were in the workroom on Saturday?”  
  
“Ohhh, no, Georg brought those. He makes them every year for Christmas; I think he told me it was his mother’s recipe. I thought he might not bring them this year because, well…” He shrugged. “But I guess he decided to bring them in the end, and a little early at that.”  
  
“Mr. Nowack bakes?”  
  
“On occasion.”  
  
“He doesn’t seem the type.”  
  
“Ah, well… I suppose people have a way of surprising you,” he said as he wandered off.  
  
Amalia wanted to laugh. Oh, if only he knew…  
  
Finding Mr. Nowack was easy enough. He was in the workroom just as Sipos had said, with his hands on his hips as he scrutinized the storage shelves with his forehead creased in concentration. He barely glanced up at Amalia when she stepped through the door, but he acknowledged her all the same.  
  
“Miss Balash, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been searching everywhere for the special orders. Where are they?”  
  
“The special orders? On the shelf by the empty jars.”  
  
“ _Which_ empty jars? What am I looking at, Miss Balash? I don’t see them.”  
  
Well, of course he didn’t see them. Amalia shook her head; she tossed her coat over the chair by the row of lockers and went over to help.  
  
“No, not on the bottom, see, they’re right up here,” she said, and she absentmindedly moved him out of the way, bracing herself with a gentle hand at his waist as she reached for the shelf and snagged the neatly wrapped packages.  
  
She held them out and Georg hesitated a moment before he took them from her, then fidgeted with the string while he gave an anxious little chuckle. “I guess I should get my eyes checked,” he said quietly, sounding sheepish and even a little flustered.  
  
“It’s all right.” Amalia patted him on the arm and made her way to the table to sit next to Ilona, whose attention was focused much more intently on her and Georg than on the tubes of Mona Lisa she was filling.  
  
Amalia watched Georg pluck a few jars and boxes off the shelves and head for the shop with everything balanced rather precariously in his arms.  
  
“Mr. Nowack, before you go…”  
  
“Yes, Miss Balash?”  
  
“Did you by any chance finish putting away the jars of face cream the other night? I don’t think I sealed all of them properly.”  
  
“Don’t worry, I took care of them.”  
  
“Mr. Maraczek didn’t give you any grief over them, did he?”  
  
“Oh, no. Thankfully, I found them first.”  
  
“You really should have put them aside for me. They were my responsibility.”  
  
“It’s not a problem. I know you were in a rush to make it to the bus stop on time.”  
  
“Well, thank you, Mr. Nowack. I think you might have spared me the wrath of Mr. Maraczek.”  
  
Georg offered her a small smile and a nod before he ducked out of the workroom; Ilona leaned over and poked Amalia in the arm. She lowered her voice and whispered, “Maybe I need to get my eyes checked, too, because I can’t possibly have just seen what I think I saw.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Amalia asked, her voice perhaps too quick and clipped; she didn’t want to come across as too defensive, after all. Could it really be so obvious to the others that something was different between her and Georg? Or was it just obvious to Ilona, whose eyes had now narrowed at her in shrewd suspicion?  
  
“ _Amalia_ … Did you and Georg—?”  
  
Amalia could feel her face heat as she sputtered and stammered and finally choked out a, “What? No!”  
  
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of if you did.”  
  
“B-but I—We—It was just a kiss!”  
  
Ilona clapped her hands together in delight. “I _knew_ it! I always had a feeling all that bickering was sexual tension.”  
  
Amalia wanted to deny it, wanted to defend their former animosity, but since the night they kissed, the dynamic between them had definitely changed. She hadn’t really expected things to return to normal—after all, kissing your work rival in a moment of vulnerability does have a way of altering a relationship—but she also didn’t expect all of the hostility between them to simply disappear in a puff of smoke like it had never existed in the first place. What she expected was awkward tension at having to face each other again at the very least, not a conspicuous absence of it.  
  
Amalia half-expected to wake up from a fever dream at any moment to discover nothing had happened between her and Georg at all, but the longer she spent preparing herself for the inevitable disappointment, the more utterly unremarkable and even—dare she say it—downright delightful interactions they shared together.  
  
“Well… in a way, I guess it was.”     
  
“Amalia, this is wonderful!”  
  
“Is it?”  
  
“Of course it is! So tell me everything, how did it happen, what was it like, did he interrupt an argument with a passionate embrace?”  
  
“No, no, it wasn’t like that, not at all. I, um… I kissed him, actually.”  
  
“You kissed him? What, just out of the blue?” Amalia nodded. Ilona looked impressed. “Good for you!”  
  
“I don’t even know why I did it, really. At that moment, it just felt… right. Like the most natural thing in the world.”  
  
“How did he react?” Amalia looked away, embarrassed by how severely she was blushing, which only made it worse. Ilona giggled. “Something tells me he didn’t mind.”  
  
“Surprisingly… no.”  
  
“Oh, Amalia. It’s not surprising at all! Honestly, it’s a shame you and Georg have gone so long at odds with each other. You two have an awful lot in common.”  
  
“Do we really?”  
  
Ilona raised a pointed eyebrow. “Have you ever actually spoken with the man? Or do you spend all your time pulling each other’s pigtails?”  
  
“We talked for a while the other night, but it was mostly about Mr. Maraczek.”  
  
“What a romantic topic.”  
  
“Oh, hush.”  
  
“So what happens now? Are the two of you together?”  
  
“I don’t know. I haven’t really given it much thought,” she said, which was mostly the truth. Amalia spent more time talking herself out of thinking about it than she actually spent thinking about it. After all, how on earth could she even begin to wrap her mind around the idea of being in a romantic relationship with _Georg Nowack?_ In the past, it would be almost inconceivable. Now that it technically wasn’t, she wasn’t sure what to do with that knowledge. A week ago, the thought barely would’ve crossed her mind, given how much they argued. Not to mention Dear Friend.  
  
“Well, if I can give you some unsolicited advice? Figure it out. As soon as you can. Whatever you two decide, hold him to it. Hell, maybe get it in writing. At least then you’ll have documented proof to fall back on if things end badly.”  
  
“Ilona, are you all right?”  
  
“I’m fine. Perfect. Never been better,” she said, and when she squeezed the tube of Mona Lisa she was filling just a bit too roughly, the back popped right off.  
  


* * *

  
  
For the first time in a long while, a day went by at Maraczek’s Parfumerie without anything particularly eventful happening. When he finally arrived after lunch, Mr. Maraczek kept mostly to himself, seeming more preoccupied than hostile for once. Mr. Nowack, too, had kept mostly to himself, but he still found the time to check in on Amalia occasionally throughout the day.  
  
Before they had kissed, Amalia would’ve thought he was being aggravating and intrusive, just waiting for her to slip up and make a mistake so he would have a chance to criticize her. Now, though, if she was wasn’t mistaken, she would say Georg had become a little protective of her. It seemed like he was genuinely concerned that she might run afoul of Maraczek and wanted to prevent it if he could.  
  
It was clear that he had started to see her as something of an ally in his situation with Maraczek now that he knew she wouldn’t take Maraczek’s side. The idea that he could trust her in some small way despite their past… Well. It felt _good_ —unusually, unabashedly good. And she had no real idea why.  
  
Could one kiss _really_ change everything? And was it really the kiss that changed things? Or the conversation? (Or the sandwich?)  
  
She had a lot to think about, that was for sure. She almost wished there was a way to explain the situation to Dear Friend, to ask for his perspective on everything, but of course that was impossible. How would she even broach the subject? No, she would just have to figure this one out on her own.  
  
Amalia gathered up her things for the night, shrugged into her coat, and made her way out to the door to leave, but just as she was about to open it, Sipos called after her.  
  
“Miss Balash, before you go…” He caught up to her and handed her a piece of folded paper. “I almost forgot to give you this. It’s the cookie recipe you liked so much. I thought you probably wouldn’t want to ask Georg yourself, so I told him I wanted a copy. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell him it was for you.”  
  
“Thank you, Mr. Sipos,” she said, staring down at the paper in surprise, feeling oddly weighed down from the significance of it.  
  
Goodness, his mother’s cookie recipe was such a… a personal thing for her to have. Old Georg might’ve even resented her if he found out she had it. This new Georg she suspected wouldn’t mind so much, which sent a warm little thrill through her body.  
  
Just then, Mr. Maraczek stormed out of his office and across the shop floor, more worked up than he’d been all day; Amalia clenched the paper in her fist and shoved it into her purse before hurrying out the door. Her shift was over and she had no desire to get caught up in his warpath tonight. She had enough on her mind already.

**Author's Note:**

> Merry early Christmas, Dear Friend.


End file.
